


Take what's mine

by kalika_999



Series: Jack and Brock's misadventures [64]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Codependency, Cuddling & Snuggling, HYDRA Husbands, M/M, Neediness, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 12:47:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17467856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/pseuds/kalika_999
Summary: He craves only one touch.





	Take what's mine

**Author's Note:**

> This is all because I listen to A Perfect Circle's the Package way too much. Also, I HC Brock faked a lot of things just to get through life before he met Jack, if you catch my drift. ;)

Brock Rumlow loathes being touched.

He’ll make a point of letting people know about it.

It’s not an overnight thing, it’s _his_ thing.  He’s been this way every since he was a kid and it's a blur of when exactly at that time it all started but he doesn’t care and it’s no ones business but his own. 

When someone moves in the give him a congratulatory hug or a pat on the back, he makes it a point to shift out of their reach.  It’s easy and he ignores the expression of momentary confusion, it’s their problem, not his.

He doesn’t do handshakes unless he merely has to, he’s lucky interaction is mostly verbal and with stern eye contact.  He can do that without a problem and when offered a shake he only stares at the hand in question before it quickly retreats and at times there’s an apology. 

Usually it’s chalked up to a superiority complex or something pointless like that and Brock allows it to happen.  He doesn’t care what people are led to believe as long as they believe it and don’t try again.

Missions without a bodily shield are sometimes hard, an opportunity without his Second leaves access to him like an open gaping hole that could attract unshed adrenaline and camaraderie his way without meaning to, though most of the team generally understand and those that didn’t from time to time learned quickly, either by the others or by them getting the cold shoulder or even to be thrown flat on their ass.

It’s nice to know that, eventually at least, almost everyone around him understands this.

The only touch he can’t deny is one of Rollins’; he trusts it with his own life, it’s the one he craves always.

The partial team missions are the ones that he hates over anything.  The ones where the lack of Jack’s presence leaves a pained need within him. Those are the ones he does as quickly as possible to get back, to rid the coiled suffocation he feels and finally be able to slip quietly inside a house with no lights on, and the barely there scent of pine lingers along everything it touches.

Brock listens, he waits a fragment longer just in case because he can’t help himself, hoping for the deep sound of Jack’s breathing, easy and relaxed.  They’ve played this game already, over a thousand times before but he has to because it’s ingrained in his mind way before Jack’s walked into his life and Jack lets him, never asks any questions. 

When he’s sure, he changes his clothes in the hallway, almost soundless and always aware of breathing patterns before he’s ready and finally slips into bed with him.

Jack is almost silent when he does, shirtless back turned to him while Brock crawls under the blanket and his fingers search for that very familiar warmth of skin like it’s almost necessary for living.  They dig in just barely against flesh and Jack gradually turns around to face him.

“Hey,” He murmurs tiredly, blinking through the darkness. A yawn escapes and a knuckle digs at the corner of his eye.  “You’re back early.”

Brock only leans in closer after pulling aside the covers that dip in between them, throwing a leg over Jack’s and pressing in closer.  He barely makes a noise of quiet relief as large hands curve around his sides and one of his presses to the small of Jack’s back just as they bump noses lightly together.

“I made ‘em work faster.  Get shit done.” Brock says with a smirk.  He arches a little like a cat, swallowing down a shiver as Jack’s hand skims delicately up his spine and cups at the back of his neck, fingers slipping in and loosely curling around bits of his hair.

“You’re okay though?” Jack murmurs.  Brock can see from the cast of moonlight the way Jack’s brows furrow a little in the darkness, sinks back against the pillow to get as much as he can of Brock’s face because he always worries about him.

“‘M’fine.  Fuckin’ fantastic.” Because, he is.  Now that he’s with Jack and feeling hands all over him in that warm and comforting way he needs, his own arms wrapped up around Jack’s body and absorbing every bit of available body heat.  He keeps one hand at the small of his back still, allows his fingers to feel out muscle and aged scars Jack bears, his other trails down past the elastic of Jack’s sweats and keeps his fingers tucked along the curve of his ass.

They stay like that in comfortable silence and Jack shifts a little, lips brushing against Brock’s jaw.  His lashes dust against the side of his face and breaths fall even and slow. There’s a weight that settles there, of Jack present and alert; he’s solid and warm and encompassing, all Brock can really do is pull him even closer, press against him as tightly as he could and live in his space like always.

“You’re like a fuckin’ space heater.” He mumbles against skin, eventually breaking the silence.

Jack chuckles, a little gravelly and breathless.  He lets his fingers skim along the material of Brock’s t-shirt before they meet the neckline and slips under it onto bare skin, the pads of them just barely pressing in to rub against sore shoulders, ply them with a way to ease and unbunch, release their hold.

“I keep you warm, don’t I?” Jack shoots back in a low rumble, drawing in a yawn.

Brock hums noncommittally, nosing at Jack’s cheek and tilting his head slightly to press a tiny kiss to the corner to his mouth. He can feel the curve of Jack’s lips just above his jaw, unable to help the smile that forms across his own lips.

He drops against his back, leg slipping away off Jack’s hip and he takes his hand hostage instead, tangling their fingers together.  Jack sits up a little and shifts to drape over his body like a big needy cat that he tended to be away from everyone else. His weight is always heavy and comfortable, bringing in a grounding sensation Brock sorely needed; he watches Jack lean down, pressing their lips together, kissing him.

This is what he loves the most.  Jack’s mouth is amazingly soft and gentle, it’s almost immediate when Brock allows his lips to part and let Jack swipe his tongue inside and taste him.  He makes a breathy noise and his hands come back to search Jack’s body, palms roaming across hips as Jack’s sweatpants slip down a little at a time for him.

They eventually draw away, Brocks lips tingling and slick with spit, Jack breathing deep against the corner of his mouth.

“I missed ya, Jackie.” Brock admits while Jack drags his thumb across Brock’s bottom lip. “Always do, so fuckin’ much.”

“I know, Brock.  I love you too.” Jack leans back just to stare at him and Brock allows it, stares just as much to drink it all in and it’s in that gaze of his how much Jack _cares_ and really does love him.  How important he is to him and Brock can’t do anything but believe him because really, he does.  Always. The admission is in Jack’s entire existence even within the darkness, he can still see it clear as day because Brock _knows_.

“If there was a night you wouldn’t come back to me, I don’t know what I’d honestly do.  If you ever- “ Jack chokes back to rest of what he starts to say, voice heavy and much too sad, breaks at the tail end of it.  He’s talking like this much too early on which only means he’s been holding a lot in.

“Jackie..” Brock says, almost warns because he can’t.  His own voice threatens to crack. He can’t bear seeing Jack so vulnerable and open.  His eyes shine, they glisten with unshed tears and it’s a rare feat to see Rollins so raw, tears into his soul and leaves a void there yearning to never witness it again.

“I always need to be around you, Brock.  Make sure you’re safe. When they split us apart, I just- “ Jack mumbles, pained as he grips Brock’s fingers even tighter than before. “I can’t live without you, you’re _mine_.”

Brock shakes his head fiercely, slipping that hand out of Jack’s grasp and cups his face protectively, presses his lips to his temple and promises him in silence with an insistent shake of his head.  “ _Don’t._ ”

Jack stops, inhales wetly and clings oh so tight to him that it hurts a little.  They do this dance every time too, Brock presses more kisses down Jack’s cheek and along the scar forever etched deeply into his skin.  “Jus shut up, shut yer damn mouth- I’m right fuckin’ here. Always gonna be yers, Sweetheart.“

Jack’s lips catch his and they kiss fiercely, almost angry and so desperate.  His hands find themselves slipping into hair and gripping at it tight, it must hurt but it’s fine, Jack refuses to protest, his hands pressing to Brock’s hips and they bruise.  He doesn’t mind either, it’s fine, _they’re fine_.  It’s the pain that reminds him he’s not dreaming out in the middle of nowhere, that it really is Jack’s breath he feels against his skin, his body pressed to his and not some kind of illusion he’s thought up seconds before he dies.

“I love you so fuckin’ much, ain’t gonna lose me.  I promise.”

Jack laughs against his lips, it’s not mocking, it’s a little high though, pitches slightly and so out of character of him but it’s comfortable and warm. _It’s Jack_.  “You can’t promise that.”

“I can,” Brock bites out viciously as he glares at him. “And I will.  Trust me on that.”

Jack stares at him as his body relaxes, more than before.  That last small bit of tension in his shoulders sag away. “I’m sure you would.  You’d fight everything just to come back to me, wouldn’t you?”

Jack sounds sure but Brock can read him better than anyone.  He still worries and that only makes him more endearing.

“Yeah, I would.” Brock promises with a slow exhale, their gaze lost on one another. “Everythin’ and everyone.  No one’s gonna take you from me, need you too damn much.”

Jack doesn’t reply, he only pulls him in tighter to his chest and settles in to kiss him again.

Brock doesn’t expect anything less.

The only thing he expects is for Jack to always hold his end, to love him, to be what he needs. It's equivalent to how Jack needs him to be his and his only, they make it work like pieces of a puzzle fitting in so easily.

It never stops Brock from feeling himself be whole once again.


End file.
